Delivery confirmations. Warranty cards with my name on them. The financing agreement for the washer and dryer, paid off in eleven months, in my name only.
And the closing documents from the house, with a wire confirmation for thirty-eight thousand dollars from my account, and a gift letter.
A gift letter. Which Daniel had asked me to sign at the closing table in 2022 and which I had signed without reading, and which said in two paragraphs that the thirty-eight thousand dollars was a gift and that I expected no repayment and held no interest in the property.
I sat on the edge of my bed and read that gift letter for the first time in four years.
And I laughed, out loud, alone, in an empty house.
Then I said: “Thank you, old man.”
Then I Got a Notebook and Wrote Four Words at the Top of the First Page
